


you've got a hold of me, don't even know your power

by CarmenOnMonday



Series: Mercy 'verse [2]
Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: Backstory, Character Study, Childhood, Developing Friendships, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Issues, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-09
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2019-09-14 23:55:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16922793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CarmenOnMonday/pseuds/CarmenOnMonday
Summary: It’s them and football that saved him, and no, he’s not a sad story. His story is full of love that doesn’t come for a price and luck that makes people cross their paths. It's the story about chances waiting to be taken and the importance of being found.It's the story full of hope stronger than the fear.___"I don't think you can look for love. I think it finds you."





	you've got a hold of me, don't even know your power

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a work of fiction, a product of my imagination. NOT REAL AT ALL. I never meant to damage anyone's reputation or dig too deep into anyone's privacy. Please, don't sue me.  
> (I used some real names and events to make it feel realistic, but to be on the safe side, I advise you to assume it's all made up. Just so I could feel like a decent person, please.)
> 
> If you're sensitive to child abuse, you might want to reconsider reading, but it's all very mild, no explicit descriptions.
> 
> If you haven't read the first part, you should go check it out, but this story can also be read as a stand-alone.  
> I'm still not a native, I'm sorry for all mistakes.  
> Here we go. Enjoy?

“And it’s Dele, he’s got the ball, he runs through the midfield, there he goes! Ohhhh, yes, what a turn, that’s right, go, Dele, go!”

The air is electric, his legs are throbbing with pain, but he resists and _flies_ towards the opposite box.

He’s lost a couple of midfielders on his way, but there are still defenders to be outplayed. He takes a turn to the right, dribbles past stretched legs of his opponent and doesn’t even put much attention to it; he’s got it, he can already fill the rush of scoring a winner. His eyes are only on the net. The stadium is eerily quiet, spectators enthralled, afraid to let out a breath not to distract him. It’s the critical moment of the match, the last few minutes in which it’ll be decided who advances to the next stage of a World Cup. He sees a chance; now, from just outside the box, he takes an aim and kicks the ball perfectly – bend it like Beckham style – and it hits the back of the net with a loud bang.

_He’s done it._

He jumps with his arms stretched high above his head and runs towards the line, ready to celebrate. 

“Deeeeeleeeeee! What a hit, son, what a hit!” the commentator screams. It’s the same words he shouted after Gerrard scored against Olympiakos in the Champions League. “Dele, the youngest ever England player to score at the World Cup!”

He falls into his knees and slides towards the edge of the pitch, thinks about the smiles on fans’ faces, about the whole nation watching him on telly, about his teammates who, just in a second, will fall onto his back…

“Wohoooooooo!” The scene is ruined, as, suddenly, his thoughts are interrupted by the cheering and slow clapping coming from behind him. 

He jerks up from the ground, startled. He quickly turns around, his smile gone, fear quickly filling his whole seven-year-old body. He’s not alone. There is some stranger watching him playing. Thoughts rush through his mind. He’s been caught, he realizes nervously. Doing what, exactly? He is not sure. Is it a private possession? Will he be yelled at for damaging the grass? He didn’t mean to– Has he hit someone with the ball? He eyes it, kicked to the other side of the road, not stopped by the imaginary net. If he runs there on his full speed, he might be able to get it and run away from the scolding. 

Dele cautiously turns around and notices the stranger, dressed in typical jeans and a rundown t-shirt. He doesn’t look dangerous, with his blond hair and small smile, but Dele knows better than to trust someone just because of his looks. 

“Nice goal, lad!” the stranger praises him kindly. “And your dribbling! Easily Ronaldinho’s level.”

Dele knows he should probably answer, at least say “thank you”, but his voice is still trapped in his throat. He’s intimidated, and simultaneously pissed at himself for it; he’s perfectly able to fend for himself, even while taunted by older kids, grown-ups though– That’s not– 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” the stranger explains, “just… I’ve seen you here alone, and couldn’t help noticing that you are in need of a few teammates. Football is a team sport, you know.”

Just like that, Dele forgets about the fear. “I’m good on my own!” he snaps, irritation bubbling in him. It’s not the first time he needs to assure people of that. It’s no one’s business, what he does and why; he’s perfectly happy here.

“Oh, okay. Yeah, I can see that.” The man raises his hand in the gesture of surrender. “Just thought you would like it better if you had some competition,” the stranger explains. 

Dele’s still suspicious of the man’s intentions and is pretty sure fighting with him isn’t the best idea, but now, when he’s already opened his mouth, he can’t control it running. He feels the burning need to convince the man that that he’s not just some lost little kid. 

“I played with others, had to go already” he explains stubbornly, staring unwaveringly into stranger’s eyes. The older boys, who played with him not longer than an hour ago, had “business” to attend to. Dele never asks what kind of business, it doesn’t matter. What matters is that even though they laughed when he’d first asked to play with them, those teenagers, twice as old and twice as tall, once they’d seen him in action, they invited him to join them whenever he wanted. Trying to come up with new ways to beat them is the most fun he’s had while playing, ever. 

He plays with them almost every day, before they go to do whatever they do as soon as it gets dark; here, on this small part of even grass, next to the church and the school building. Sometimes, they even move to the unofficial pitch on the other side. Only when there’s no one there to see them, though.

He doesn’t need anything more. He’s earned the respect and right to play with older lads; he’s better off without some stupid kids interrupting his game.

“And you just wanted to play some more, right? Look, my son plays in the youth team, he’s about your age. Harry, you might know him from school? There they are.” The man points towards the “real” pitch. There is a group of boys there, kicking the ball between each other. He sees some vaguely familiar faces; they might be from his school, but he doesn’t really know any of them. 

Right by the pitch, there is a group of parents, cheering their kids on. Dele observes them intently for a second.

“The boys could use one more for the game. It’s not any official football academy, just something we’ve put together with other parents so there would be a chance for the kids to practice. The coach is my old friend. He would be happy to have you there, if your parents agreed.” 

Dele ignores the man and stares at the group of laughing kids, pushing each other playfully to get a ball, at the fathers watching them proudly, at the man on the sidelines, clearly the coach, yelling the instructions. It’s all a bit too perfect. It’s not a real life, he knows. It looks more like a scene from a film, the contrast between this and what he knows is a real life striking. The real life is here: his barely holding together boots, the shabby ball and teammates who never go easy on him, so he ends up with bruised body, but almost never bruised ego.

Still, this perfect scene he watches from afar makes him fell a pang of jealousy. It’s stupid, but… He wants. He wants, he wants. His heart pounds loudly in his chest, full of longing.

Dele ignores the “parents” comment. He swallows painfully. “I can’t pay for it,” he says, careful not to let the man hear the regret in his voice. It’s okay, really. That’s how it is.

The man shakes his head. “You don’t have to. There’s no fee, I told you; it’s all just a bit of fun. You’re free to join them, if only you want to.”

He wants to. He wants it so much.

The silence stretches, while he thinks about it once again. At the prospect of leaving his safe spot and stepping into this other world, the vile in his stomach rises; it reminds him how much he hates adults looking at him with pity. He can already feel their stare on him, he can almost hear condescending voice telling others where he lives, who his mother is. 

He’s okay over here, he really is. He would rather run away and never see this man again, that’s always his first reaction upon being noticed. He doesn’t want to catch anyone’s attention. 

It’s football, though. No rules apply when it comes to football. He just wants to play, wherever, whenever. In a real team... That’s more than enough to convince him. He can feel his heart reaching out towards the pitch. 

Dele bites his lip and fights down the urge to deflect and run away without sparing the man a second glance. 

He has to say yes. He doesn’t know why, but he can feel it in his gut – it’s the right thing to do. So he slowly nods. The man smiles.

“I’m Alan Hickford”, he says, extending his hand to him. “What’s your name?”

“Dele”, he mumbles. “Just Dele.”

 

 

 

 

He follows the man to the pitch on the other side of the building. When they approach the lines, Mr. Hickford steps closely to the coach and whispers furiously into his ear; then they both turn and look at him, the coach’s stare measuring him, assessing if he’ll be of any use. He makes up his mind quickly, smiles and beckons Dele closer. Dele strides to him purposefully, even though his hands are sweating, and he can feel the uncomfortable fear filling his guts. It’s okay, though, he’s used to fear, to nervousness, he won’t let it show. He hugs his old ball in his arms protectively.

The coach explains that the teams are uneven, so he’s much needed; he tells him he’ll play in the defence, because that’s where they lack players. 

Dele doesn’t like playing defence. He never has to, really, and when he thinks about Ashley Cole or Rio Ferdinand… That’s not who he want to be. Next Steven Gerrard, that’s him.

He doesn’t dare to argue though, just bites his lower lip and nods.

He goes to the pitch and can feel the stares on him; both from other players and their parents. He was right, he doesn’t know anyone, even though he’s seen them before in the school halls. He has something to prove, he knows. That’s never been the problem on the pitch. 

And then, of course, it all goes wrong.

He tries, he really does, he just doesn’t remember to stay in his place just on the edge of their box. His legs run automatically towards the midfield, after the ball, ready to take it and swirl past the boys from the other team. But then the ball is in their possession, and there are some good players there too, taller than him, a bit faster, and they manage to outrun him. There’s no one to stop them on the side of the box he was supposed to cover.

“Wimp,” he hears whispered behind him, by his own teammates, and the vicious laughs that follow.

It takes three conceded goals, all his fault, before he feels the realization sink – for the first time in his life, the football let him down. Or maybe he let down the football. 

He stares at the opposite team celebrating, feels the sneers from his own teammates (he doesn’t even know their names), and can’t help feeling that he was better off before, on the other side of the road, on his own. 

He turns rapidly, before anyone notices his eyes watering, and flies; he doesn’t even take a moment to explain himself. He doesn’t notice Mr. Hickfords’s concerned look, doesn’t hear his name shouted after him. He runs, the tears making it hard to see much trying to turn his sadness into anger, stupid, stupid, _stupid_ kids, and doesn’t stop until he’s behind the church, far away from all the sneering and taunting. 

 

 

 

 

“Your ball,” he hears a few minutes later. He didn’t even notice that he’s not alone, anymore, in his hiding spot behind one of the church’s entrances. 

The boy who approached him sways from one leg to another, visibly nervous while he holds in his hands Dele’s football. It’s the most precious thing Dele possesses, and yet, he didn’t even stop to take it before he ran from the pitch, the fool he is. He harshly wipes his eyes with his sleeve and reaches for the ball; the boy gives it eagerly and seems relieved. Still, he doesn’t move.

Dele hugs the ball close and leers at him. Or at least he tries, not really sure if he can make it work with his eyes still wet from the tears. Brantford and the others – the teenagers with whom he normally plays – would eat him alive if they saw him now. He feels so stupid. He feels like a baby. 

“What do you want?” he asks in hoarse voice. “Who sent you?”

The boy lowers his gaze.

“The coach made us run laps around the pitch–“

“And?”

“Look, I– It’s– It wasn’t fair, the laughing. It wasn’t me, I swear!”

Dele still doesn’t get what is this kid’s business. 

“I just wanna say that if you wanna come back… The coach said he would mix the squads, said you’ve a talent to be in front, and even if you didn’t, it was your first game with us, and we shouldn’t laugh, and I’ve seen you play before, and you’re really, really good!” The kid bubbles, without any break for breathing. “ You should come back. Make ‘em see.” 

Dele doesn’t like talking to the kids from his school. They’re all still so silly, so detached from the world, and yet so quick to give him the evil eye. Like they’re better than him, because they have better grades, better clothes, better…

This kid, though, Dele hasn’t seen him before, didn’t even notice him on the pitch today. He seems honest; terrified, but truly nice. He brought Dele his ball, that’s something. Dele’s stupor melts. He swallows loudly and turns away, doesn’t answer because he can’t bear to lose his cool. 

“I’m Harry. My dad talked to you before?”

So that’s Mr. Hickford’s son. “Oh, and he made you find me?! I’m not– I don’t need your help!”

And what is that even about? Why do they care?

“No! I just wanted to give you back your ball!” Harry sounds sincere. “Look, it all went to shambles before, but come ooooon, we need good players, and you need a team.” He looks at him pleadingly. “I’ve got your back,” he adds, solemn.

Is this even for real? Dele’d never– It was always just him. No one ever told him that, not on the pitch, not in the class. 

“Maybe I don’t want to play with you anymore,” Dele says stubbornly, in his last effort to put up the illusion of independence.

“That’s fair. Just. I’m sorry, I’m really sorry for how they’ve treated you. It’s not right.” The boy is clearly resigned. He slowly turns.

Dele watches him leave, taking all remains of Dele’s hopes – the ones he already let himself believe in, just an hour ago – with him. Something in Dele snaps uncontrollably. 

“Wait!” He can’t stop himself from shouting. “They said I could play in the front?”

Harry sharply turn back and nods, hope etched into his face. “Yeah! Tom can be a defender, he played there before, and Jeff is more of a forward, so we could really use someone in the midfield. Your nutmegs! I think you’ve made Jimmy mad because you’ve outplayed him, that’s why he laughed. He won’t anymore.”

It’s like someone’s offering him his dream on a gold platter, for the second time today, and it’s already gone badly once, so Dele shouldn’t expect that this time it would be different, but… He sees so much confidence in Harry’s eyes, like he knows for sure that it’ll work out perfectly.

“And you? Where do you play?” Dele asks.

“I’m actually a defender. I’ll be on your team now. I’ll assist you with your goals!” Harry smiles, already jumping enthusiastically.

Dele bites on his lip. It’s probably stupid, to take a leap like that for the second time on the same day, but there’s something about that boy that tells Dele he’ll be okay this time around. He doesn’t dare to trust Harry without any doubt yet, he’s far from it, still quite unsure of the boy’s motives, but somehow he can see that happening in the future. He would never admit it, but wants someone in his corner, and here, right there, it might be it.

He can already fill his confidence raising once again, just like that.

“Race you back to the pitch?” he says, smiling slowly. Harry beams at him and starts off. Dele can feel the laugh escaping him involuntarily while he tries to catch up with his new friend.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Okay, boys, take five!” the coach decides, and the collective sigh of relief escapes their mouths.

It’s the last training before the big match tomorrow. Dele is eleven, same as Harry, and they both play at City Colts FC, the local youth club. They’ve moved here together from their amateur team, Mr. Hickford making sure they both attended the tests and then driving them to every training. He only once asked Dele what his parents think about it, and upon hearing “they don’t mind it” – which is true, they really don’t, they couldn’t care less – he let it go. Dele’s glad.

The coach drills them with a special determination today, because tomorrow, on Sunday, they face boys from MK Dons Academy. Not only are they the team with the most wins in their little league, they’re also everyone’s dream destination, the place to be, and it’s not a secret that officials from the academy like to watch opposition during matches and invite the most talented individuals to join their academy. If you get chosen like that, you don’t even have to pay any fee. For boys like them, who played on the grass behind the church, it’s a dream come true.

Someone puts their hand on Dele’s shoulder and he flinches; once he opens his eyes, he sees it’s only Harry. 

Dele’s okay with the team, just like he was eventually okay with the previous one. They appreciate his skills and he appreciates the feeling of having the team behind him, but he’s not overly close with any of them. Sometimes, he can still see the judgment in their eyes, the fear even, because they don’t get him, and he doesn’t trust easily, he only shows them what he wants them to see. Even after the years, Harry is the only one who managed to get through his defences. His best friend in the world.

“Hey, Del, want to come by today for the dinner? We can play PES later!”

Dele can feel something move in his stomach and yearns to say yes, already imagining the warmth of Harry’s house and Mrs. Hickford’s dinner, Molly running around them, trying to get them to play with her… But he knows he can’t today. It’s Saturday, he needs to be home to make sure everything is okay.

“I can’t.”

“Oh. You have family dinner?” Harry asks, full of good intentions. Sometimes Dele thinks he’s truly too good for this world, too innocent. Is it even possible he doesn’t know anything about his family life? Dele doesn’t talk about it, sure, but sometimes he wishes somebody would hear his silence. 

“Yeah, something like that,” he answers flatly.

They have another two hours of training, at the end of which Dele’s ready to collapse, not only from the exhaustion, but also from the hunger making his stomach hurt. He bites his lips and wills himself to think about something else; about tomorrow’s match, and how he’ll shine, and how he’ll make everyone see, about all the trophies that await him.

For now, he can only drag his feet towards Hickfords’ old car. 

“Hi, boys, how was the training?” Mr. Hickford never loses his optimism. “Ready to win tomorrow?”

“Yeah!” Harry replies, in the same manner. Dele can only nod. 

“Del, you coming to ours?” He’s asked once again.

“I can’t today. Homework, and… stuff.” 

Mister Hickford’s smart eyes observe him carefully, but he lets that go, once again. He drives them back to their neighbourhood; Dele always gets off at the crossroad, and he does it again, thanking for the ride.

“We’ll wait for you here at 8 a.m. sharp. Or maybe you want us to come get–“

“No, yes, that’ll be alright,” he’s quick to interrupt.

He says his goodbyes and gets off the car. He’s so tired he can barely keep his eyes open, but there’s one more thing he needs to do. He waits for the Hickfords to leave and goes the opposite way, getting further away from his house. 

He counts the money he has left – he doesn’t play with older boys anymore, but sometimes, they let him help with their “business” and earn some pocket money. It’s not much, but it needs to be enough. It’s weekend, so there’s this one thing he has to get.

At the local Tesco, he buys the baby formula, and with what little money there’s left, a bread and some cheap ham. He had to buy new boots last month, so he got a little loan from the boys, and now there’s not much he earns during the week, but he’s making it work.

He slowly staggers back home, dreading what he’ll find there. 

He’s not surprised to see the apartment’s door open, loud voices coming from the living room. That’s exactly how it is every weekend. Any other day, his mother is... trying, at least. She goes out to do little jobs, she cares for his siblings, she brings home some food. She doesn’t care much about Dele, her oldest, the first mistake on her way to self-destruction, blamed for many things he couldn’t change – his father leaving and not giving a damn, his mother losing her job and drinking, looking for love in the arms of many men... But Dele’s used to it, that’s what he knows, he’s not much home anyway.

What really bothers him, though, is how during the weekends, she forgets about being a half-decent mother and instead holds “parties”. Just like the one he finds going on in the apartment. 

He bites his lip and walks in, terrified, but with his best business face on. He doesn’t even stop in the living rooms, ignores the people filling it to the brick, the dancing and smoking crowd, and goes straight to his sisters’ – Annie, who is four, and baby Kathy. 

He opens the door to their room, expecting them there, maybe scared, but somehow used to the noise and commotion, hopefully not too hungry or crying, but... His heart sinks when he sees the room empty. They’re not there.

He drops all this groceries, turns rapidly and goes running to his mother. 

He sees her on the coach in the centre of the room. She’s already completely wasted; she lies on some stranger’s lap, laughing hysterically at whatever he tells her. The room is full of smoke, the walls seem to shake to the rhythm of the music. 

He needs to scream to be noticed.

“Where are they? What’ve you done?!” He yells, adrenalin fuelling him, his tiredness forgotten.

He thinks about that one time he’d found his sisters completely unattended, hungry and scared, locked in the wardrobe, left there, because they’d interrupted his mother and her friends’ fun, and Kathy didn’t even know what was happening, but Annie... He had to calm them down and then run to the shop, because his mother didn’t think to buy any food for her baby, and now he’s always prepared for the weekends, because even though he doesn’t have a great relationship with his sisters, he only really sees them on weekends when his mother forgets about having children, he can’t listen to his siblings’ cries, he just can’t. When the parties start, he’s all they have. He knows how it is to not have anyone; he won’t let that happen to them. 

But now they’re not here. Dele sees red. His mother looks at him through barely open lids.

“Gone,” she mumbles.

“WHAT? What do you mean?!” He’s terrified. What if, what if... 

“Hey, don’t you dare yell at your mother!” The dark-haired lad who was gulping a drink by the wall just seconds ago barks at him, reaches out and cages him in his arms. Dele tries to kick him, struggles to get free, but it’s not enough.

“What the hell have you done?!” He screams, and in his mind he begs his mother to answer, absolutely horrified. The lad tries to push him towards the bedroom, but Dele keeps fighting him.

“Mum! MUM!” he tries to get her attention back.

“For fuck’s sake. Gave them back to their fathers... can take care of their little bastards...” Dele barely hears her words, but he feels cold running through his veins at the realisation of what has happened. “God, I wish your deadbeat father would just take you brat away...” she mumbles, and looks around alertly for her bottle. 

Dele doesn’t have it in him to fight anymore, he goes slack and loses the ground under his feet. The man who holds him drags him to his room and pushes him in. Dele falls down and lands on his hands. Seconds later, he hears the key turning.

“Hey! HEY!” he gets up and goes to the door, trying to yank them open, unsuccessfully. They’re closed.

“Let me out! Let. Me. Out!” He pounds on the door, but already knows that it’s over. No one hears him. “Please...” he lets out the last whisper.

But there’s no one to save him, just like there never was. He’s alone.

 

 

 

 

He’s woken up by the gasps.

He couldn’t fall asleep all night; the loud noises coming from the living room, music and voices, making it hard for him to calm down; the emptiness in his stomach painful, the thought of his siblings gone – would he ever see them again? – spiralling in his mind.

It was almost morning when he finally fell asleep, the thought of his match already distant, forgotten, like it was only happening in another universe, completely different to the one he’s living in.

He opens his eyes slowly, still too tired to understand what is happening.

From the door, Harry and his dad look at him, shocked. 

“You okay?!” Harry lets out and quickly runs to him, sits on his bed, puts his hands on Dele’s arms. “What happened, who are those people?” he gets frantic, clearly completely out of his mind.

Dele looks up at Mr. Hickford. His eyes are hard as steel, his jaw set. For a moment, Dele thinks he’s mad at him, and is scared to make even the smallest noise, but then Mr. Hickford opens his mouth, and his kind words make Dele let out the breath he was holding.

“Come on, Del, get up. Take your things.” Mr. Hickford looks around and stares at the worn-out clothes lying around, at the few school books he has on a desk. He shakes his head hopelessly. “You’re not coming back here.”

“But...” He’s still not fully awake, his brain can’t catch up with the situation yet.

“I’m sorry, kid,” Mr. Hickford states quietly, with regret in his voice and solemn face. “I’m so sorry. I knew it wasn’t the best for you at home, I knew, I should’ve... But this...” He seems absolutely crushed. Dele can imagine what they saw when they arrived here. 

They had to open the door to his bedroom from the outside to get to him. They probably figured it all out. Dele wants to die from embarrassment, but at the same time, he’s selfishly glad. 

Maybe he’s not alone.

Mr. Hickford has moved and is already efficiently packing Dele’s things into his school backpack.

Dele thinks about protesting. He’ll probably be okay after the weekend, he’s always okay.

But here’s the thing: he doesn’t have the strength to pretend anymore. There’s nothing holding him back here.

“Come on, Dele, you’re going with us. I won’t let that happen anymore,” he hears and believes, for the first time in his life.

He takes his boots and the ball and is ready to go.

He’s been found.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Dele doesn’t think much about his early childhood. 

The thing is, he’s not some sad story. He’d never been one. He’d made it his mission to prove people that, even then, but later on, he doesn’t have to prove anything anymore. His life’s taken a sharp turn – it all had started that afternoon on the small pitch next to the church, and continued through the years. Every time Hickfords showed him signs of their love, of their care. Every time Harry saved his ass on the pitch and off it, standing up for him to vicious kids. Every time he didn’t have to come back to his old apartment, and instead could see and feel small bits of the real family life. Finally, that time when Hickfords just took him in, welcomed in their family like he was always a part of it, and never asked for anything in return. It’s them and football that saved him, and no, he’s not a sad story. His story is full of love that doesn’t come for a price and luck that makes people cross their paths. It's the story about chances waiting to be taken and the importance of being found. 

His is the story full of hope stronger than the fear. 

Dele doesn’t know how he deserved it all. He probably didn’t, but still got it.

If he thinks about his childhood, it’s only the happy memories that fill his mind. That afternoon he met the Hickfords and played in a real team for the first time – that’s what he carries in his heart whenever he steps into the pitch. Even though it was not all ideal, what with the initial humiliation of letting the goals through, he holds it in and cherishes it, because that’s what shaped him. 

His football career is a reflection of all good changes in his life. From City Colts FC, he moves to MK Dons, together with Harry, always together, and then, at sixteen, he debuts in the senior team. He plays, and plays, and plays, and scores, more goals then he ever thought he would, even in his most daring dreams. It’s a hard work, pushing through his ostentatious half made-up pride and very real hidden insecurities. It’s a cycle of ups and downs, of doubts, when he still sometimes feels like a lone wolf, and of overcoming his limits, and maybe even asking for help when he needs it (it’s still not easy). 

He’s a work-in-progress, trying to get rid of the feeling of alienation that was engraved in him from his early years, trying to learn how to be a part of a team. It’s still his Achilles’ heel, even with Harry’s constant help, but it’s easier for him now, to trust, to believe, to see the future ready for him to take it. 

And when Tottenham comes knocking, he’s ecstatic and nervous and proud, but not shocked, because somehow it all led to it, he could feel it coming.

He’s not some sad story. He’s the opposite of it. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

The training sessions at Tottenham are something else.

It’s not that Dele isn’t used to the fast tempo, hard work, relentlessness. He helped MK Dons to advance to Championship – it wasn’t a piece of cake either. Dele yearns the exhaustion that settles in the bones after a hard training, and the satisfaction it gives, the feeling of getting better and better every time he steps on the pitch.

What is something else, though, is the professionalism that can be felt in the air. It’s not a club from lower leagues, it’s one of the best in England, with footballers who regularly represent their countries and the gaffer who has a very detailed plan for their future.

What’s the most surprising and different from what Dele knows, is the atmosphere in the locker room. Dele has become Tottenham player in the winter transfer window, but stayed in his old club on a loan, so it’s his first weeks with Spurs now, in the preseason of 2015/16, and he cannot believe how quickly he gets integrated with the group. He’s never had that, that instant connection with the team. From the first day, they welcomed him as one of their own: Hugo clapping him on the back and instructing Dele to come find him if he needs anything; Harry Kane sharing the knowledge about the club’s inside dynamics that comes only from the experience: where to go if he needs to rest, what is the best meal in the cafeteria, who to ask for additional merch or tickets should he need them; Son coming up with the handshake and communicating with him through bright smiles. Other boys, making sure to include him in their conversations and plans, making effort to get through his off-the-pitch shyness. The stuff already treating him like one of their own, like a family.

It’s all quite unnerving for the boy who never really felt invited to be a part of the group, who always relied on his brother to help him in social interactions. Still, Dele couldn’t be happier about it. It’s so easy to be the best version of himself around these boys. He’s always joking, always laughing, he doesn’t bite his tongue as much as he used to. It’s like he’s this completely different person.

It’s not all perfect, though. There’s this one lad who seemingly puts the distance between himself and Dele. 

Eric Dier. 

And of course, Dele, being who he is, puts much more attention to that one lad who seems to have some sort of problem with him than to all his friends. He just doesn’t get it, doesn’t understand how he’s already managed to piss the man off. Eric’s not like that with anyone else. From the distance, he actually seems likable. He jokes around with others, he’s always respectful of the gaffer, he leaves his heart out on the pitch. 

It’s only around Dele that he gets more cautious, somehow withdrawn, and others notice that too.

“Yo, Dele! Have you kicked Dier’s puppy?” Kyle asks during the warm-up, on his second week in the club.

“What are you–“

“He’s so stiff around you, I cannot believe it.”

Yeah, I know the feeling, Dele doesn’t say.

“I have no idea what’s his deal. I didn’t even talk to him that much” he replies, thinking that maybe that’s the problem. He’s not sure how to reach out to the lad though. He’s not exactly an expert in starting relationships. 

“Maybe he got mad for all the nutmegs,” Kyle guesses, jokingly, but Dele’s breath catches.

 _I think you’ve made Jimmy mad because you’ve outplayed him_ , he remembers Harry explaining years ago. Is that possible that this is what happened? Is Eric that kind of the person, so easily irritated by small failures and little taunting? So even here, even in this huge London club, Dele still can’t just play freely in fear of stepping on his teammate’s toes? 

He’s not a little boy anymore, he won’t let himself be put down by someone else’s insecurities. He’s here to play the best football he can, even if it’ll make some mugs mad.

“Then I guess I’ll have to nutmeg him some more,” Dele states, fire in his voice. 

A challenge to establish his position in the team, that’s what he knows.

 

 

 

 

And so it starts. The trainings are a battlefield now, because Dele just can’t let it go. He cannot stop thinking about Eric’s grumpiness around him, about the measuring looks he gives him, about the fact that he never, not even once, talked to him willingly. 

What makes Dele even more pissed is Dier’s occasional indifference. There are times when Dele catches Eric looking at him, measuring him, trying to solve him like some sort of riddle, and that’s okay, Dele can deal with it by showing off, by proving his skills and outplaying the lad. Sometimes, though, Eric just stays in his own small group, mostly with foreigners – and what’s that about? – and doesn’t put any attention to Dele. 

In the group which took to Dele so quickly, so trustingly, that one person who seems to not care about him at all makes Dele squirm. 

If that’s how it is, Dele can at least give Eric the good reason to despise him. He nutmegs him whenever he can – during the warm-up, the five-a-side, the cool-off session, after the training is done and they all leave the pitch. And he goes out of his way to do it, because they are rarely in the same group. 

Harry Winks, who Dele knows from a few England U19 call-ups, keeps the count of the times Dele managed to put the ball through Dier’s legs. It’s a two-digit number now. 

Dele just laughs when others ask him about his motivation.

Eric doesn’t ask.

 

 

 

 

The first words Eric says to him in weeks are “give them hell” when Dele is subbed in for him. It looks like Eric believes he’s able to do that; Dele’s clearly made an impression on him by now. The impression of being a little bitch, probably, but that’s who you need when you play Manchester United away, right? So it’s no wonder Dele can see the honesty in Dier’s eyes.

It’s Dele’s debut. He goes on the pitch to do exactly that, to give them hell, and he tries and fights with all he’s got, but he can’t do much during the thirteen minutes he plays. They lose, and Dele feels his heart drop.

They all come back to the locker room, gloomy, clearly disappointed. The locker room is quiet, apart from the clicking of the boots on the floor, dirty clothes being thrown all over the place. It’s the first time at this club that he stays far away from people, doesn’t seek any companions, lets himself focus on the vile taste of disappointment. He’s mad, tired, and feels somehow cheated on – he’s an idealist in his heart, at least considering football, so he believed he would be able to turn the game around, that it’s enough to just work hard, but... It’s not. Even when you play for Spurs.

For a moment, he feels like he’s back at MK Dons. They didn’t lose that much over there either, but when they did, the atmosphere changed, everybody put the blame on others, looked for a clear reason – or for a person responsible – for their failure. It wasn’t easy, losing there. Just like it’s not easy here. Dele cannot let go of the dread filling his gut, making him wonder if maybe – maybe he should’ve done more. It’s a bit too close to what he used to feel when he was a kid to just ignore this feeling, it’ll take him a while to get over it.

Even though by now he’s always cautious of Eric’s glances, he’s too busy wallowing in self-pity to feel the blue eyes on him. 

They leave to the bus, and Dele takes a place somewhere in the middle of it. He sits alone to focus on the aftertaste of losing, to analyze it and put it carefully away not to forget; to make the need not to feel like this much in the future his motivation. 

He’s surprised by the low voice coming from someone sitting in front of him, from the face squashed between the seats to look at Dele.

“You did good,” Eric tells him, no traces of doubt in the words. “Congrats on your debut.”

Dele is stunned into the silence. He stares, not believing in what is happening. Some boys praised him just right after the match and the gaffer looked at him approvingly, but this, right here, somehow feels like the best compliment of them all. The most honest, for sure, and somehow the best timed too. It came when he needed it most, and it’s doesn’t feel forced, isn’t a sign of pity. It hits him straight into his heart.

But Dele doesn’t get it. Why now? What’s changed?

Has he somehow, without even noticing, earned the respect of one Eric Dier?

 

 

* * *

 

 

Dele compartmentalizes the losses, relearns how to make them his strength, and puts even more effort into his football. 

He plays, and scores, and everything is exactly how it’s supposed to be.

He laughs so hard he cannot breathe when Kyle comes up with yet another joke. He almost bursts with emotion when Hugo gives his skipper speech before the match. He banters with Danny on daily basis. He calls Harry regularly, tells him all about the Spurs, listens to him when he talks about his matches, informs Alan (Mr. Hickford’s made him call him that just a few days after he moved in) on all official stuff happening at the club, reports to Sally that he eats regularly and that he knows how to use his washing machine now.

It’s all very close to the perfection, when, of course, life surprises him once again.

In November, they play North London Derby. He’s in a starting eleven, just like Eric, who treats him like a person now, even smiles at him sometimes when he does something especially silly. It fills Dele with pride, seeing that he’s able to do that. Eric doesn’t show much of his softer side to Dele, doesn’t reach out to him, but Dele’s still happy with what he gets; it seems that, for once, he was able to somehow steer the relationship he feared was lost to the safer waters. Maybe it’s just because of the time that passed, or because Dier has finally noticed they have common goals, but it’s almost cool between them now. They’re not friends, but they have mutual respect towards each other.

On November 8th, they go on the pitch together, they run the midfield together, and they’re _on fire_ , together. Tottenham manages to secure the draw, and it’s not the best case scenario, but still better than some alternatives, and when Dele wins the Man of the Match award, it’s pretty much his dream come true. Evenings like this don’t happen often. 

“Hey, you coming to mine? We always get together to unwind after the derbies” Toby stops by him on the way back from the showers. They are the last two in the locker room. Dele is still unable to let his emotions down, he hasn’t even changed yet.

“I’ll let you know? My family might be here tonight, it’s their style to surprise me like that”, he explains, bashfully. Sometimes, he still cannot believe he has a family he can gloat about.

“Oh, that’s nice! Just come around if you want to, you don’t have to text before. We’ll be up all night probably.” Toby beams at him. 

Dele returns his smile and slowly gathers his belongings to finally go to the showers. He’s still there when he hears someone walking through the entrance to the showers.

“Hey, Dele?” It’s Toby’s voice again.

“Yea?” he calls back.

“Your mum is here!” Toby informs him excitedly.

Dele chuckles. “Ha, I told you! I’ll be right there, you can tell her!”

He makes it a quick work, getting out of the showers and packing his things, excited to see Sally for the first time in a couple of weeks. He didn’t really have time to go visit them recently, and he realizes now that Harry was playing today too, so that’s probably where Alan went. It’s cute, how they treat them both as their sons and share their time between them. Harry, being Harry, isn’t even jealous about it, is actually happy to have a brother. He tells him that repetitively. 

Dele hums under his breath, when he leaves the locker rooms, almost jumping on his way out to the car park. He says goodbye to the kitman and the security guard on his way, already planning in his head where he’ll take Sally to the dinner. They should celebrate properly, it’s not like he can cook anything for her, and she shouldn’t have to work in the kitchen today, so…

He opens the door and the cold air hits him straight into his face. It’s not what makes him stop unexpectedly though, just few steps out into the car park.

It’s the sight of his mother, his _biological mother_ , waiting for him, leaning on the side on the building.

He inhales sharply, blindsided.

“Dele, baby? You’ve grown so much!” she starts, making her way towards him.

He stares at her without even blinking. He unconsciously takes a step back.

“I’ve missed you so much!” 

_What the fuck._ That’s all that is in his mind. 

“What do you want,” he whispers, his voice carried by the silence in the empty car part.

“To finally see you again!” She continues coming closer to him. She looks older, but a bit healthier than she used to, and she sounds completely different; no typical sharpness in her voice, only some pretended care, longing. She sounds like a real mother now. 

Dele recognizes it for the pose it is.

He remains frozen, not able to come out of the shock of his worlds colliding. She’s approaching him slowly, only a few meters between them now.

“I was hoping we could–“

Her words are interrupted by the sound of the door opening behind Dele. He doesn’t dare to turn around to see who it is. She gives the person standing behind him a vile stare.

“Dele? You okay?” Eric says, coming from the building and stopping next to him. Dele only gulps.

“I’m his mother, he’s alright, we just–“ the women hisses, but is interrupted again.

“Dele?” Eric asks pointedly again, visibly concerned. 

He puts his hand on Dele’s wrist and carefully makes him turn. Dele focuses on his face, worried, soft like he’s never seen it before, big blue eyes gazing at him protectively. That’s what makes Dele finally snap from his shock.

His breath catches in his throat while he tries to think about the answer.

“I–“ he starts, but doesn’t finish. It’s all a bit too much for him and it get’s unbearable. 

He shakes Eric’s hand off, turns around and runs back into the building. He can hear some heated discussion starting behind him, but he doesn’t listen, doesn’t care. He runs, his vision blurred, until he reaches the locker room and manages to squeeze himself behind the lockers, in the corner hidden from the entrance, wishing for the earth to open up and swallow him. Just like that, he’s a hopeless seven-year-old again.

 

 

 

 

He’s found. Again.

It doesn’t take more than three minutes before the loud steps echo through the corridor. Dele’s too busy frantically searching through his backpack to care about it. He searches for his mobile, but his fingers only catch on the stupid MotM trophy. He trembles even more, frustrated at his fruitless effort.

“She’s gone,” Eric says from the entrance, when he comes in, looking somehow dishevelled and unsure. He seems like he wants to add something else, but decides not to; instead, he slowly comes to Dele and crouches in front of him. Dele lowers his eyes and focuses on the backpack again, just to have something to do. He can’t bear Eric’s concerned look.

“What do you need?” he asks, in soft whisper. 

“Why do you care?” Dele snaps, falling into his old habits.

Of course it’s the one person in the club Dele’s not sure what his relationship with is, of course it’s Eric who had to witness this scene, the sight of Dele here, reduced to a shaking mess, unable to calm down.

“You’re my teammate, of course I care.” Eric’s hand finds his wrist again, stopping his hand from going through his backpack again. “What do you need, Dele?” he inquires, once again, staring into his eyes and showing him he won’t back out.

Dele gives up on putting up the illusion of having his life together.

“My phone, I need my phone,” he whispers pathetically. This is one of those times when he needs help and he knows he has to ask for it; both from Eric, and later on, from his family. He himself doesn’t know what to do. His world somehow shifted, just like that, a few minutes ago, leaving him shell-shocked.

It’s one of the most morbid experiences in his life, letting his teammate see him in this state, but he doesn’t even care anymore.

It takes Eric all of ten seconds to find the phone.

“Harry, please.”

Eric searches through the contacts and shows Dele a list of Harrys to point at the right one. Eric gives him the mobile and moves as if to leave him to it. This time it’s Dele who catches the wrist of his teammate. Harry doesn’t answer for a long time, and Dele, completely irrationally, doesn’t want to be alone. 

Finally, the call is answered.

“Del? Congrats! I’ve heard–“

“She came here,” Dele blurts, not letting Harry finish.

“She? What she?”

“…mum.” It must be the tone of his voice that tells Harry he doesn’t mean Sally.

“Fuck.”

Dele chuckles detachedly. “Yeah.”

The silence stretches. Eric sits still next to him and is politely looking away from him, giving him some shreds of privacy. 

“Where are you?”

“In the locker room. She was in the car park.” 

Dele realizes, with mortification, that the tears are back in his eyes. 

“Do you need me to come get you? It’ll take me two hours or so, I’m still at the stadium, but–“

“No! I just. Just.” He can’t explain what he needed from Harry. Some sort of reminder that he has a family other than that women who suddenly remembered about her son? 

“Okay. I get it. It’s okay, Del. Forget about her. She doesn’t matter, you know it. She stopped being relevant years ago.”

Dele slowly lets out a breath he was holding. He’s still trembling, but the worst is over, the whirlwind of emotions finally quiets down and he’s left with tiredness in his bones and in his mind.

“She... She came here, just like that, and waited for me by my car, what if... I don’t want to...” He doesn’t know what exactly is he scared of – she won’t hurt him, she’s not dangerous, and there is security in the car park, they would help him if needed. It’s not about the physical violence though, it’s about being reminded of the chapter of him life that should be long forgotten. 

He doesn’t want to see her, he doesn’t want to let her ruin the life he has built for himself. Even by showing up here, she already messed up with his head and reduced him back to a helpless kid. And he... He wasn’t even angry, just scared. It’s terrifying, how much power over him she still holds. 

“Are you alone?”

“…no.”

“Who’s with you?”

“A teammate,” Dele answers quietly.

“Oh, that’s good. Give him the phone.”

“What?! No!” He’ll never live that down, this whole thing.

“Come on, little bro. Don’t argue, just do it.”

Dele hands the phone to Eric, smiling a bit hopelessly. Eric takes it and speaks to Harry, only in half-words and hums. Dele doesn’t know that they’re talking about, and doesn’t even mind that he’s not part of the conversation, instead focusing on his nails, slowly counting his breaths in his mind.

It’s all okay. It didn’t happen. She’s not here anymore, she’s gone and she won’t come back anymore. That’s what he needs to believe.

“…okay. Yeah, we can go to mine.” Seems like some decisions have been made. 

Eric gives him back the phone.

“Harry?”

“Yeah, okay, here’s the thing. I don’t want you to drive like that. Eric’ll take you home. Just to be sure she won’t bother you anymore, you’ll go to his, okay?” It’s sweet, how Harry expects he’ll put up the fight, because normally that’s what he would do, he rarely lets others make decisions for him, but for once, he’s glad to be handed out an out; he doesn’t want to be alone tonight. Even if it means spending the night at Eric’s. At least he doesn’t seem bothered by it, and maybe that’s the reason why Dele can see himself relying on him for this evening. 

“Okay.”

“We’ll deal with it tomorrow, okay? I’ll come by with dad, we’ll think about what we can do, but for now, just rest, okay? And let Eric help you. Sounds like a good lad.”

“Yeah.”

“Love you, bro.”

Dele feels the tears rising in his eyes again, for what must be a millionth time today.

“You too.” He finishes the call and wipes his nose on his sleeve. 

Dier finally looks at him, and it seems he’s a man on the mission, already with the plan in his head.

“Here’s what we’re going to do. You stay here for a moment, I’ll ask the security to make sure there’s no one in the car park. I told her to leave, but wasn’t sure who she was, so I might’ve treated her a bit too nicely for her to actually listen. Drink some water, pack your backpack again, wait for me here. We’ll be leaving in a few minutes.”

Eric seems to be good at managing the crisis. He’s all business. Dele’ll have to ask him about it later. For now, he just nods and lets himself be comforted by Dier’s confidence and the slow pat on his back he gives him before leaving the room. 

 

 

 

 

They’re quiet on their way home, first while they go through the car park, Eric’s arm put protectively around Dele because he started shaking even more once he had to leave the building again, and then in the Eric’s car. Dele sits there awkwardly, not sure if he should start some small talk or maybe offer the explanation, but he’s drowning in embarrassment, unsure how to save his reputation now, and just doesn’t find the right words.

It’s not like they talk much, they can’t exactly just fall into some familiar chat.

Eric puts on some music and doesn’t comment on the whole scene at all. Fortunately, he doesn’t look too grumpy to be included in his family drama; Dele’s not sure he would be able to deal with it now. 

During the ride, he considers asking Eric to drive him to some other teammate of theirs – he’s not in the mood to party, sure, but there must be someone who didn’t go to Toby’s? And Dele has a better relationship with literally every lad other than Eric. Somehow, though, the thought of sharing his past with anyone else doesn’t look enticing. They’re not this kind of friends. Eric already knows some things, without being told about them, and he hasn’t reacted badly (hasn’t reacted much at all, instead focusing on helping Dele).

So Dele stays put.

They go inside the house – surprisingly small and not ostentatious at all – and Dier leads him to the couch. He brings him a blanket, hands him a cup of scolding hot tea and orders his huge, cuddly doggies to settle on the couch next to Dele. At this point, Dele expects him to try to wipe his snot. He’s such a mother hen, Dele didn’t realize.

Only then, when it seems Eric’s checked all points on his crisis management list, he falls down on the armchair and visibly deflates. After all this, now he seems his age – he’s just two years older than Dele – and he shows that he’s a bit lost too, sort of out of his comfort zone. Before his grumpiness makes an appearance, Dele speaks.

“You’re good at this.”

“Eh?”

“At… Well. Caring for people.”

Eric looks at him surprised.

“I guess? I have a lot of siblings,” he explains.

“And you’re the oldest?” That would make sense.

Eric smiles at the simple thought of his family.

“No. There’s six of us. I’ve got two older sisters, Steph and Daisy. Then there’s me, then the twins, Eddie and Frank, and then Paddy.” 

“Oh wow. How the hell have you not killed each other when you were kids?”

Eric chuckles at that question.

“There were some incidents, but... Hah, see, we actually like each other. There’s a six year gap between me and Daisy, but I’m the oldest from the youngsters, and us four, we’re all just a year or two apart, so we were kind of a default friends group when we’re growing up. We moved to Portugal when I was seven, and we didn’t even know the language, so we instinctively kept close to each other.”

“Right, you played for Sporting before!” Dele remembers suddenly. That explains the weird inflection in his accent. It’s... It’s kind of cute.

“Yeah. I lived in Portugal for almost as long as I remember, and at first, my siblings were all I had. They’re actually okay.” He looks embarrassed for a second. He’s quick with the deflection. “Don’t tell them I said that.”

Like Dele would ever have any chance to. 

It makes sense, now, Dier’s behaviour today. Dele can easily imagine him consoling his brothers and sisters – in a simple way, by offering them peace and quiet, maybe some tea and a cuddle with a dog. It’s all very brotherly, to take care of others, even if normally you don’t really show emotions towards them; to not ask any questions or not talk at all, just be that shoulder to cry on and the rock to lean on.

So Eric doesn’t ask, but Dele feels compelled to return the favour of sharing personal information. 

“I get that. Harry – my brother, you talked to him – is awesome” he admits, curious if that’ll make Dier wonder even more.

“Yeah, he sounded concerned about you. Maybe you should let him know you’re okay.”

“He knows, I already texted him. Thanks for that, by the way, for making sure I was okay. Which I am. And I can go know, if you rather–”

“No, no, stay. Harry will come for you tomorrow. And no problem, really. It actually–” Suddenly, Eric stops talking. 

“What? What it actually?” Dele asks, half-intrigued, half-frightened.

Eric just shakes his head. He stands up, as if to leave the room, but Dele speaks before he can go far.

“What did Harry tell you about–“ It’s hard to even say it. “–about my mother?”

“Nothing. Really, nothing, I don’t care.“

And he doesn’t, he’s that kind of person who stays away from others’ business. Dele didn’t get that before, but he sees it now.

“No, you should know what happened today.”

“You don’t have to tell me, Dele, I mean it.”

“But I want to.” Dele says and only then realizes how much he actually longs to share it with someone here. 

Eric sits back down. He looks at him seriously.

“Okay.”

Dele starts to pet one of the dogs, just to have something to focus on. The doggie allows it, not even sparing him a glance, but Dele can tell he’s been accepted. 

He tries to find the words. It’s not easy.

“So, that women. She’s not crazy, she’s actually my mother. Biologically, at least. But that was the first time I’ve seen her in, what... Six years? Seven? I guess hearing my name on the telly has made her remember me.”

“And Harry...?” Eric asks, wanting to understand.

“Is my brother. Adoptive, you can say. He and his family took me in when I was eleven. I never looked back. I didn’t even know if she noticed me being gone, she never...” His breath catches, and that’s why he stops, but it’s easy, talking to Eric, he can see himself sharing with him even more. He’s never spoken about it, never had to explain because Harry already knew, and Dele wasn’t very eager to share this with any other people, but Dier is a good listener, and looks at him seriously, aware of the importance of this moment. 

“And then she ambushed you in the place you least expected to see her. God, I can’t even imagine that.”

Dele nods, and then remembers what he wanted to ask him, this whole time.

“Why did you came around when you saw us? Why didn’t you just ignore it?”

Eric looks at him like he’s offended by the question.

“I’ve never seen you like that. It was obvious something wasn’t right.”

“What do you–“

“You’re always so confident, so happy, it’s like nothing can bring you down, but you were standing there looking like you’ve seen a ghost. I’ve never seen you so tense.”

It makes Dele stop for a moment, that comment, and it makes him appreciate Spurs even more, for allowing him to be that completely different person, the person only ever seen with a smile on his face. No kid from Milton Keynes would ever say that about him. 

Here, at Tottenham, he’s considered a self-confident, happy person. And he actually is one. There’s something huge about this revelation.

“And big bro Eric couldn’t resist saving the team baby?” Dele says with a bit of a laugh.

Maybe Dier initially wants to protest, it takes him a second to catch up with the change of the mood, but then he beams and is quick with the banter.

“Someone needs to carry you on his back, right? Just like on the pitch.” 

Dele isn’t even offended.

 

 

 

 

The next day, Harry comes by, and Dele feels like a kid picked up from a babysitter. It would make him mad, if not for the fact that it’s just _Harry_. It’s different with the Hickfords, he doesn’t feel stupid being coddled by them, and the thought of his mother trying to hunt him down – what for, he’s afraid to even consider – is constantly somewhere in the back of his mind. 

Eric and Harry meet and apart from the spoken words, they seem to carry some sort of telepathic conversation, just through their stares.

“Thank you,” Dele whispers into Eric’s neck when they hug. In the last day, they talked and touched each other more than in the last few weeks combined, and it’s Dier who reaches for him. His attitude towards Dele has clearly changed; it’s like he _sees_ him now, like he finally understands him.

Dele’s more distant today, shy and unsure of their newly born friendship. He can’t stop thinking about all the things he told Eric and how he asked him to stay up with him all night, watching some stupid chick flicks on the telly. Up till now, he only ever allowed Harry to see this side of him, and even though he feels an irrational trust towards Eric, he can’t get rid of his anxiety.

Dier, being Dier, really doesn’t care, and just invites him over for FIFA on their next free day.

Just like that, through another lucky/unlucky accident, Dele gets a new friend, and not just like any other teammate, the real kind of friend, the one, he knows, will have his back in the future.

See, Dele’s not a sad story. Every time something bad happens, it only allows some more light into his life.

It takes Eric months to finally explain to Dele why he kept the distance from him at the beginning. By that time, Dele knows him well and already has some ideas.

It takes Dele just a few weeks after that night, weeks filled with laugh and banter, with finally getting to know the real Eric and his teddy-bear side, his sharp humour and tendency to protect his own – to realise how stupidly infatuated with Eric he is. 

Just like that, Dele starts dreaming about the boy with prince blond hair and beautiful blue eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> So. That's how far the retrospection goes. Don't worry, we'll arrive at the Googlebox and the aftermath (at some point).
> 
> If you're curious about Eric's behaviour, that's the topic of the next part.
> 
> I had some doubts about addressing the issue of Dele's family. I don't know, I really don't. I just believe it's important for this character's development.
> 
> Some references:
> 
>   * The goal by Gerrard against Olympiakos, with the commentary (I imagine Dele watched it) - [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4sBxm8Qo4sY). 
>   * Dele's story, as told by him and Alan Hickford - [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RZyUqm7y7fg).
>   * Dele likes to say in the interviews that Eric didn't like him at first.
>   * Eric explained it [here](http://carmenonmonday.tumblr.com/post/179601504066). 
>   * All dramatic scenes about Dele's childhood are a product of my imagination. We only know that he played on the streets and that Hickfords took him in when he was eleven.
>   * He did have some contact with his father, I just decided not to include it, not to dig that deep. Let that be the sign of how _not real_ the event in this story are.
>   * There were some articles about Dele's mum trying to contact him after he signed for Tottenham, including waiting for him in the car park. He refused to talk to her. There's also the issue of him dropping his last name from the shirt - it'll be addressed later on.
>   * As for Dele's siblings - he has some from his father's side, for sure, but I've seen some photos of kid Dele with babies in his arms, so. The details are my own imagination.
>   * I think Eric's siblings' names and ages are mostly correct (I learned them through some not-creepy-at-all Twitter research).
>   * I tried to build the plot around the real events, so all the matches mentioned actually happened, but as I wasn't a fan of football back then, there might be some inconsistencies. Let's all agree to ignore them.
>   * ["I don't think you can look for love. I think it finds you." ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Rgb7Eilgp0c&t=130s) ~ Dele
>   
>  Please, please, please let me know what you think. Any comments will be appreciated, tell me everything, anything. I mean it.  
>    
>  Here's where you can find me: [carmenonmonday.tumblr.com](http://www.carmenonmonday.tumblr.com) Come say hi! :) 



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